The Passing of Trust
by plenoptic
Summary: Response to a challenge issued by optimus prime 007. Optimus's first day as Prime...but how can he give orders to Ironhide and Ratchet, the mechs who raised him, especially if it puts them in danger? And how can he cope with the passing of Sentinel Prime?


**The Passing of Trust**

_Plenoptic_

**Whoo hoo, Plenoptic's first challenge! This one was issued by optimus prime 007. Her prompt? To write about Optimus's very first day as Prime. Dilemma? How can he possibly give orders to Ironhide and Ratchet, the mechs who raised him from younglinghood? Especially if his orders may put them in harm's way? Her one condition was that Megatron is already the leader of the Decepticons.**

**So my biggest challenge in writing this fic was deciding how mature I wanted Optimus to be. Did I want a tentative young mech who was just getting his sea legs, a shy kind of dude who just wanted to see everyone happy? Or did I want to immediately pull in the aft-whupping mech we all know and love? **

Ofcourse**, one has to play in that if Optimus is Prime, his father figure, Sentinel, has recently passed…and I can only suspect that this is going to severely dampen his ability to lead at this point in time.**

**So I just started writing. :D**

**Please enjoy, please review…and thanks a bunch, op! Congrats on finishing Hope's Journey, too! Oh yeah--this has nothing to do with New Beginnings or any of my other stories. **

**Tunes for this story****: Numb, by Linkin Park. But I had "Boom Boom Boom" stuck in my head the whole time. Thanks a lot, Ryo!!!**

**Credits to optimus prime 007, for the idea of Megatron shooting Optimus before betraying the Autobots. See "Hope's Journey" for details. Thanks a bunch, chica:D**

* * *

_**I've become so numb**_

**_I can't feel you there_**

**_I've become so tired;_**

**_So much more aware_**

**_I'm becoming this_**

**_All I want to do_**

**_Is be more like me_**

**_And be less like you_**

Linkin Park's "Numb" (Best LP song ever...go look it up on iTunes right now)

_

* * *

_

_I can't get up._

_I don't want to._

_Frag…two breems is all I have left. My shift starts in two breems. I have to give _orders_ in two breems._

_I can't do this._

_I have to._

"…Why _me_, Sentinel?"

The ceiling didn't answer his whispered question. Optimus sighed; he hadn't really expected it to. Maybe in the small part of his processor that was undoubtedly going insane, he was hoping the ceiling panels would open up and say, very matter-of-factly, "Well, you _are_ his son."

"Adopted," he reminded himself in a grumble, rolling over and shuttering his optics. "But that doesn't explain anything. Just because he had an emotional hookup on a helpless youngling didn't mean he had to go granting me favors. I never asked for the Matrix. So why…why me? Why not Prowl or Ironhide--well, maybe not Ironhide--but at least someone who would know what they were doing?"

The wall was about as talkative as the ceiling.

With a sigh, Optimus dragged himself from the recharge berth and glanced around his new quarters uncomfortably. His living space seemed too big. He was used to a small room, complete with only a berth and desk…though he had had an adjoining washroom. Now, he was entitled to four separate rooms: a space to recharge, a separate study, even _bigger_ washrooms, and some sort of recreational area that was cluttered with more junk than a modest mech like him knew what to do with. Aside from feeling like a particle trapped in waste tank, Optimus couldn't deny that he felt lonely. As commander, his quarters were set off from his mens', allowing him privacy to think and whatever else commanders did. But he missed the company of his comrades. He'd had trouble falling into recharge last night; Ironhide's snoring through the not-thick-enough walls had become his only lullaby as he grew out of younglinghood.

He flinched slightly as cold cleaning fluid poured from the aroused faucet in his washroom, and his frame relaxed as the liquids warmed. He made no effort to clean himself; he hadn't roughhoused with Ironhide or Jazz in several sub-orns. He missed that, too. Now, his friends and guardians seemed almost afraid to touch him, lest they insult their new commander. It left him feeling helpless and alone.

The time following Sentinel Prime's death--at Megatron's very hands--had been tumultuous, to say the least. Optimus's spark had been tormented long joors during the day, and recharge only came when his own soft sobs exhausted him. He felt weak, and he hated himself for it, but it…it _hurt_. Losing Sentinel Prime, the only one he'd ever considered a father, was almost unbearable. Especially since Sentinel had promised to always be around, to always be there for his young mech, to always offer help and guidance…

_So where are you now_? Optimus wondered bitterly, tilting his head to allow the warm liquid to wash over his face. Fluid ran in between his lips, and he relished it; it tasted better than tears. He shook his head slightly and looked down, watching grime that had been trapped in between his joints flow into the drain…he'd needed a wash down more than he'd realized. He stretched out his arms before him, rotating them, rather admiring his new armor. His red and grey colors had become dull, uninteresting to the optic, and worst of all, they made him look like a youngling. But the new blue hues, along with the repainted reds, clashed beautifully together. Upon seeing him, Chromia had gushed that he looked absolutely stunning, and if it weren't for the fact that she was Ironhide's mate would have dragged the young commander to her recharge berth.

Rather awkward conversation afterwards, though Optimus greatly appreciated the compliment from his friend.

The insistent beeping of his chronometer in his room startled him from his reverie, and he hurriedly closed the faucet. He dried his armor fast, his spark pulsing in terror; he didn't want to do this. His first official day on the job, the first time he'd have to look at one his friends, his guardians, and give an order…Primus…

Unexpectedly, something lurched in his abdominal region. Panicking slightly, he rushed right back into the washroom, leaning over the waste unit. He heaved, and his waste tanks promptly emptied their contents. Shocked, he couldn't gain control; he continued to choke and retch. He hadn't consumed any energon since Sentinel's death nearly an orn ago…where in Pit's name had all this slag come from?

Nearly a breem later, he eased himself to the floor, panting and gasping. His body trembled violently, and he drew his knees up to his chest. He felt hot tears in his optics, and could do nothing to restrain them. He was barely out of younglinghood…this was so far beyond him…and his own big brother awaited him on the other side of the battlefield.

_I can't do this._

* * *

Prowl looked up as the command center doors slid open, and he smiled slightly when his weary looking commander entered, his optics cast downward. Optimus looked up and his lips twitched into a small grin when he spotted the tactician already at his station. He quickened his pace to arrive at Prowl's side.

"I thought you were off shift for a while yet," he said, leaning over the monitor to see what his friend was working on. "Primus, how can you be messing with all this slag this early?"

"Someone has to do it," Prowl replied lightly. "And you're late."

Optimus flinched. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I…had a little medical problem. Ratchet insisted on looking me over, so…"

"Victim of the Hatchet?" Prowl snorted, rolling his optics. "Alright, you're forgiven. Ready to take the seat of honor?" he gestured towards the command chair, and Optimus grimaced.

"No."

"Go," Prowl replied sternly, giving his new leader a small push. "It's where you're supposed to be."

"Prowl--"

"Optimus. Now. Once your aft is in that seat, I can't order you around anymore. You're not a youngling. You're a full grown mech, and you're our commander. Start acting like it."

Optimus hesitated; he knew Prowl meant well. He nodded slowly, then turned and made his way towards the ominous command balcony.

"…Optimus," Prowl said suddenly, and the younger mech turned. The second in command paused, then smiled gently. "I'm proud of you."

A grin twitched on the young commander's lips, and his optics warmed. He nodded, then continued towards the balcony. He made short work of the staircase, having ascended it time and time again to see Sentinel as a youngling.

Far from being cold and hard as he'd expected, the command chair was pleasantly warm, wonderfully comfortable, as though it was welcoming him. He settled down somewhat cautiously; the last time he'd sat here, he'd been in Sentinel Prime's lap, a bubbly, happy little youngling.

"So the big man arrives," Jazz's voice said pleasantly, and Optimus swiveled around in his seat, a grin splitting his faceplates behind his mask at the sight of the saboteur.

"Hey, Jazz. What are you up to?"

"Sneaking around Prowl," the mech replied with a snort, smirking. Optimus wished he could have seen the mirth in his lieutenant's optics, but his visor prevented it. "I also wanted to check up on you. Ironhide said he'd heard you in your quarters this morning…"

Optimus swallowed nervously. "Um, yeah…my waste tanks had backed up."

Jazz flinched. "Frag. That's never fun, is it? How are ya now?"

"I'm just fine, thanks. I went to see Ratchet."

"Explains the tardiness," Jazz chuckled, reaching up to clap Optimus on the shoulder. "Well, welcome to your proper place in the command center, bud. Have fun."

"Yeah," Optimus snorted. "Thanks."

"Get ready for the storm."

"…Er, what storm?"

"Data work, of course," Jazz snorted, shaking his head. "Sentinel was always swamped with it. Prepare to be ferociously attacked with data chips courtesy of people you once called your friends."

"JAZZ!"

"Oh, frag," the saboteur muttered, glancing over the balcony. "It's Prowl. I gotta go, Optimus, but good luck, okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

No sooner had Jazz departed than Optimus was greeted by a cheery calling of his name. Turning back to the staircase, his spark fluttered madly in his chest--

Elita.

"Hey, there, Boss," Chromia said brightly, dragging her friend behind her. "See, Elita? I told you he looked great."

Elita One smiled slightly, her optics scanning Optimus's rearmored body as he stood to greet them. "You were right. Very alluring, Optimus. You'll have femmes falling on you one after another."

"Ha ha," he said dryly, looking down at her. His spark flipped its chamber when she smiled up at him, her optics just the tiniest bit bashful. "Your mission?"

"A success. Honestly, Optimus, did you expect anything different?" she asked flippantly, placing her hands on her hips (Optimus mentally slapped himself; at her subtle motion, his optics had been drawn almost immediately to the pronounced curves of her lithe body).

"Of course not," he replied warmly, smiling. "But it's common courtesy to inquire."

Elita scrutinized him carefully, then shook her head. "I can't believe this. You're Prime."

Optimus sighed, and his shoulders slouched ever so slightly. "I'm not even sure _I _believe it. And I'm the one who has to sit in the seat of honor."

She lifted an optic ridge. "Seat of honor? Cocky much?"

"That's what Prowl called it," he said defensively. "But, you know…um…don't think I've forgotten you or anything, okay? You're still my partner--I mean, my combat partner, right?"

"Yeah, of course," she replied. "Hey, I have stuff to do, okay? See you in the shooting range later?"

"The second I'm off shift," he promised. "Uh, whenever that is."

She nodded, smiling. He envied her; how could she always be smiling like that? "Wonderful. I'll see you then."

With a wave she and Chromia (who was smirking) departed, hurrying down the staircase, bickering good-naturedly. Optimus watched his partner bid her friend farewell before leaving the command center. For the briefest of seconds, he saw her glance back at him…

But only for a second.

* * *

Ironhide promptly dropped a disgusting amount of data chips onto the desk, and Optimus looked up slowly from the work he was already bent over.

"You know, I once considered you my friend," he said scathingly, picking the nearest data chip up and inspecting it closely. "What the slag is this?"

"Casualty report," Ironhide replied nonchalantly, dropping himself into a chair opposing the young Prime's desk. "Sorry, but someone has to read it. I'll help you write the notices to their families, if you like."

Optimus snorted. "I'm not sure how good you'd be at that, Ironhide. 'To whom it may concern--I'm real sorry to tell you that so-and-so had the frag blasted out of him. We don't know who did it, but since I'm going to send all Decepticons to the living Pit, it really doesn't matter anyway. Make sure your kids know how to hold a rifle, and don't forget to--'"

"Optimus," Ironhide said quietly, and the commander looked up.

"I was just kidding, you know," Prime said quickly, surprised by the serious expression on Ironhide's face.

"This morning," the weapons specialist said, his optics softening. "Ratchet said your tanks backed up."

"Yeah?" Optimus confirmed tentatively, then twitched. "Hey, wait--isn't that classified medical information?"

"We're your guardians," Ironhide said flatly. "When it comes to you, there are no secrets between Ratchet and me. Besides, you haven't purged your tanks like that since you were a sparkling. He was worried."

"…Oh," Optimus replied uncomfortably, wishing he could say something that sounded a little less clueless. "That's really not necessary, you know. I can handle myself now, Ironhide."

"A little help never hurt anyone," Ironhide said quietly. "Optimus…I heard you crying this morning."

Optimus stiffened. "That…I mean…what?" he managed to choke out, then laughed nervously. "Come on, Ironhide. You must be really old if your receptors are making up sounds on you."

Ironhide's face did not crack. Optimus shrank back again; when something was wrong, he always felt as if Ironhide could see straight through him, could pierce his spark. It had been that way since he was just a sparkling, especially when Ironhide caught him doing something he shouldn't have been.

"It's okay to be afraid, little one," Ironhide said softly, and Optimus flinched. "It's okay to fear what's to come. You don't have to be so strong."

"I…I'm the commander now. I _have_ to be strong. The men…they need that."

"You're right. For them, you have to be strong. But Ratchet and I…we raised you, Optimus. We were there when the rescue squad recovered you from the wreckage of your parents' home. We were there when you first began speaking again--remember? After watching your parents' murders, you became mute. And then, I remember…and Ratchet and I, we were there--I remember when you experienced your first waste tank purge. We were there when you used to have those nightmares, and when you were so scared to walk into the school…you clung to us and cried your little optics out. And then, when we came to pick you up, you were locked in a discussion about black hole atomics with your teacher…And we were there…that day…the day Megatron left…"

Optimus's face hardened. Unfortunately, he remembered that day as well. He remembered, sparkling though he was, lifting his head and gazing into the brilliant crimson optics of his big brother…accompanied by the open barrel of a fusion cannon. He remembered Megatron's murmured apology, he vividly remembered the pain…the _agony_, as his tiny body was literally ripped apart. He remembered, vaguely now, the panic in Ratchet's voice, the frantic hands that had tried to stem the flow of energon from his wound…

"I don't want to talk about that," Optimus said hollowly, and Ironhide nodded.

"You don't have to. I know it hurts, Optimus. I'm just saying you don't have to be so brave. We're fighting a war here, and we all know how personal this is for you. It's your brother, for Primus's sake! But you don't have to be so brave, alright? The men will understand if you're not! You're not immortal; the risks for you are the same as they are for us. _All_ of us. If you can't be brave every fragging second, if you can't hold it together at every moment of the day, don't think we're going to think any less of you! Alright?"

Optimus looked up cautiously, and confirmed that Ironhide had stopped his abrupt tirade. The weapons specialist was panting slightly, and his optics were more alive than Optimus had seen them in many long orns.

"I'm sorry," Ironhide ground out, but Optimus shook his head slowly.

"Don't be. Someone had to grind some sense into me." He forced a smile. "I'm glad it was you."

After a rather tense pause, Ironhide relaxed, his shoulders sagging. "Now I'm tired," he grumped, scratching absently at his helm. "I could use a shot of high grade…" He lifted an optic ridge. "You in?"

Optimus glared at him. "Ironhide. It's my first day on the job. If I go and get over-energized, how do you think that would go on my repertoire?"

Ironhide chuckled. "Okay. Whatever you say."

"Yeah, yeah, go enjoy your high grade," Optimus sighed, leaning over his data work once more.

"No."

Optimus lifted his head, puzzled. "Excuse me?"

Ironhide grinned. "No. I don't have to do anything."

Prime frowned. "Please?"

The weapons specialist lifted an optic ridge. "That won't get you anywhere anymore, 'Commander'."

Optimus scowled, but behind his mask, a smile came alive. Order number one. "Go enjoy your high grade," he growled. "And that's an _order_, soldier."

Ironhide released a bark of laughter and clapped the younger mech heartily on the shoulder. "Sir, yessir. Whatever you say. I really haven't got the authority to argue, have I? See you later, Optimus--come join us in the rec room later."

Optimus exhaled deeply through his vents, looking down at the patient pile of data work. "Yeah, sure," he groaned, taking up his pen once more.

/// page break

"So your first order as official commander was to tell Ironhide to go get over-energized?" Elita One speculated lightly, loading her pistol with rounds and laughing lightly. "That has to be a first, Optimus."

"I told him to enjoy his high grade, not get over-energized," the young commander argued, narrowing his optics. "How many do you want?"

She considered. "Go twenty."

He lifted his optic ridges. "Twenty drones? That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"What? You scared?" she teased lightly, smirking, and he stiffened.

"No. Just don't want to overwhelm you," he replied, and she laughed.

"Quick with the glossa as usual, Optimus. Set it, I have a lot of energy that's gotta come out on someone."

"What sort of energy?" he asked casually, placing a hand on his hip, and she glanced over at him. He hoped against hope itself that his optics didn't betray him, as was their customary behaviour when it came to Elita One. His spark was begging her to say that it was passionate energy, and his processor was vigorously insisting that she could take out _that_ energy on _him_ all she wanted.

"I don't know," she sighed, suddenly seeming tired, and he took a step forward, concerned. "I don't know anymore, Optimus."

"Don't know what?" he prompted gently, coming to her side. "Elita? What's wrong?"

"I'm swamped," she admitted, rubbing tiredly at her optics. "Casualty reports coming in left and right. Energy sources running low. More and more rebels exposing themselves and joining the Decepticons. And then…" She lifted her optics to meet his, and his pump hammered. She swallowed and plowed on. "And _you_'_re _commander in the midst of all this, Optimus. Sentinel Prime left you with such a heavy burden. I'm concerned. I don't doubt that you can handle it on your own--I know how capable you are--but…I don't _want_ you to have to shoulder all that. You'll kill yourself trying, I know you will, but…"

"I'm not shouldering it by myself," he interrupted quickly, and she blinked. "I…I'm not alone. I know that. I have Ironhide and Ratchet and Prowl and Jazz and…and…" He reached out tentatively and took her hand. "I have you," he said quietly. Her spark strained against its metallic bonds, screamed for his…She bit her lip and looked away. To her shock, his other hand reached up and guided her face back to his. "If you'll have me," he said softly, his optics gazing into hers, his expression unreadable thanks to his mask. "I think of you as my best friend, you know, Elita."

Best friend. She forced a smile onto her face, but her spark ached. A friend. That was all he wanted from her? "Well, I'm rather fond of you myself," she mused, desperate to hide her disappointment from him. "You're okay…for a lugnut."

He scowled when she pushed gently on his chest, moving away from him. "You know, others have been calling me that lately. Am I really that much of a loser?"

She paused, pretending to think. "Well, you're clumsy at the most inconvenient times, you have a history of attempted self-sacrifice, you, like other mechs, can't think past your interface appliance--"

Shocked, he dropped his rifle where he stood, and she laughed as he scrambled to gather the spilled bullet rounds. She bent down at his side and assisted him; her nimble fingers more easily caught up the shells than his bulky digits.

"But you know what?" she said softly, and he looked over at her--straight into warm, gentle blue optics. His spark lurched somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. "I think you're an all-around loveable sort of mech."

He stared, and she smiled; a smile that broke through the dark clouds that had inhabited his spark since Sentinel Prime died. His spark sang, desperate to join with hers, to finally have hers as its own…

She jolted slightly when he abruptly leaned forward, nuzzling his mask against her cheek. Her spark froze in its chamber, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

"Loveable, eh?" he rumbled softly, pressing one of his large hands over her own. "So does that mean you love me, Elita?"

Her jaw felt locked. Her vocalizer wasn't working.

He chuckled softly into her audio receptor. "I take back what I said. I don't just consider you a best friend, Elita."

She swallowed, begging her vocalizer to quit glitching and work, turn on, do something--!

The warmth of his hand left hers, his face pulled away abruptly as he stood up, then extended the hand again to help her up. "Come on," he purred gently, his optics warm and affectionate. "We have drones to slag, don't we?"

* * *

As it turned out, a very light-sparked Optimus Prime met his friends in the rec room that night. He settled down on a couch alongside Elita, who looked slightly abashed but smiled at him all the same.

"Following orders?" Optimus implied of a rather dizzy-looking Ironhide, his optics twinkling in amusement.

"Pit yes," Ironhide said woozily, gesturing towards Ratchet. "Ratch…get him some of the good stuff…Optimus, take the mask off, start chuggin'…"

"No, thank you," Prime replied flatly, but he smiled all the same. "I think I'll have to stay off the stuff for awhile, Ironhide."

The weapons specialist shrugged lightly. "Suit yerself…" and promptly chugged down another cube, releasing a whoop as it hit his tanks. "Frag, that's strong!"

"I think you've had enough, babe," Chromia said skeptically from her seat on the floor, leaning against his legs.

"You could join me," he suggested lightly, and she rolled her optics.

"I'm not dragging you back to our quarters, just for the record."

"Aw, frag…" he looked crestfallen, but then he brightened. "Then maybe I can drag _you_ to our berth?"

"Not likely," she snorted, then looked at Optimus. "So, big man. How was the first day?"

He grimaced. "Chromia, I have never seen so many data pads in my _life_. And I spend an awful lot of time in the library. I got a report about some recruit defiling the walls of the waste reciprocal room with some mildly vulgar word."

"What did you do?"

"Sent it right back down the chain of command," he replied, and Elita squawked.

"You jerk! _I _got that report!"

"Oops," he said guiltily, but smiled as she began to fume. "Sorry, my bad."

"Yeah, your bad," she grumbled angrily, scooching away from him on the couch. "One of these days, Optimus…one of these days…"

"I'm a little relieved, actually," Prime said suddenly, looking over at Ratchet, Ironhide, and Prowl (the latter trying to wrestle the high grade from a very happy weapons specialist). "I've cleared the first hurdle, right? From here, I'm only going to get better. I want to be worthy of the mantle Sentinel gave me. From here on out, I can get closer to achieving that."

Ironhide blinked blearily, then loudly demanded more high grade. Ratchet and Prowl, however, both smiled, sober enough to be proud of their little mech. Optimus beamed under their unspoken praise.

"Hey, Prowl?"

"Yes?" the tactician quipped good-naturedly.

"If I'm about to make a huge mistake…" Optimus frowned, searching for the words. "I'm going to try my best, okay? I don't want to give orders that are going to put you all in danger, but I know that's inevitable. But…I've been thinking about it all day. I wanted a resolution. And…I decided that…I'm going to be with you all every step of the way, alright? If your life is in danger, as is mine. I think Sentinel would expect me to think that way. He raised me to believe that we Autobots were one, a functioning unit like no other…and I'm not going to forget what he worked so hard to teach me. I'll remember…but, Prowl, if I'm about to make a huge, stupid, utterly lugnut-like mistake, please kick my aft, okay?"

Prowl blinked, then abruptly burst into laughter. "Is that an order?"

Optimus smiled. "Yes."

* * *

**XD Sorry, couldn't resist throwing the OpXElita tidbits in there...now that he's a mechly mech, he'll probably work his aft off to impress her...**


End file.
